


Cody Rhodes Puts His Foot In It

by storyranger



Category: All Elite Wrestling
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Getting Together, M/M, Skateboarding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:41:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25662292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storyranger/pseuds/storyranger
Summary: So yeah, okay, did technically Cody say he’d go to the skatepark with Darby tonight? Sure. But he didn’t actually expect Darby to follow through. For one thing, Darby didn’t even have a fucking car right now. And for another, Cody didn’t own a skateboard.
Relationships: Darby Allin/Cody Rhodes
Comments: 7
Kudos: 28
Collections: Extreme Deadline Exchange '20





	Cody Rhodes Puts His Foot In It

**Author's Note:**

  * For [voodoochild](https://archiveofourown.org/users/voodoochild/gifts).



Cody Rhodes was never going to win an award for “World’s Friendliest Boss”. That’s what he had Matt and Nick here for. And normally, the Jackson brothers accepted this status quo and left Cody to his misanthropic ways. But for some reason lately, Matt and Nick started insisting Cody needed to be nice to Darby. “Kid’s having a rough time, Cody. Lighten up. Kid just needs some friends.” Cody had wanted to scream that if they knew so much about the damn kid, why didn’t they befriend him themselves, but he held his tongue. He’d be screwed without the brothers’ keen intuition when it came to new talent and interesting team-ups; the least he could do was attempt to tone things down to gentle sarcasm instead of his usual caustic manner when dealing with one Darby Allin. It was an irritation, not a crisis.

With this pledge to be kinder in mind, when Darby approaches him by the craft services table and jokingly asks if Cody wanted to come skating with him after they wrap up promo tapings for the day, instead of barking out “not in a million years, Allin” he merely quips back, “only if you’re driving.”

“See you at 8,” Darby agrees, in tone that is suddenly distinctly less jokey, and Cody is too preoccupied with the 7 new unread messages in the BTE group chat to contradict the damn kid before he’s disappeared.

So yeah, okay, did technically Cody say he’d go to the skatepark with Darby tonight? Sure. But he didn’t actually expect Darby to follow through. For one thing, Darby didn’t even have a fucking car right now. And for another, Cody didn’t own a skateboard. Frankly Cody would have forgotten about the whole conversation if it hadn’t been for the solid thunk of a rock being thrown against his door.

But Darby Allin is actually here, right outside his motel room, lounging on the hood of a bright yellow convertible that has clearly been modified into a lowrider. Cody doesn’t know all that much about cars, but he knows enough to judge correctly that this car fits neither Darby Allin’s aesthetic nor his price range. Cody masks his rapidly increasing panic that he’s not getting out of this hangout by asking what he considers a very reasonable question.

“Where the hell did you get this from?”

“Ask me no questions, and I’ll tell you no lies,” Darby replies with a smirk.

“You fucking did not-” Cody all but screeches, tearing open the driver’s side door and looking frantically under the steering column.

“Woah, dude, calm down. I’d never hotwire a ride this pricy. Mox taught me better than that.”

Cody decides he’d rather not know where the car came from, actually. In a desperate attempt at salvaging the solitary evening of relaxation he’d envisioned for tonight, he goes for self-deprecation.

“Shouldn’t you be hanging out with the cool kids?”

“Get in the car, asshole.”

Cody throws up his hands, defeated, and settles himself into the surprisingly spacious passenger seat.

“Seatbelt,” he says sternly, as Darby puts the car into reverse.

“Yes, Grandpa,” Darby mutters under his breath, and Cody chooses not to hear him.

* * *

The skatepark is deserted, which disappoints Darby a little. Part of the appeal of skating is the community, and he loves visiting new parks in every city they tour through, meeting local skaters and picking up new trends and the occasional hot tip for being a better miscreant. Not that Darby Allin really does any tagging these days; he’s on TV now, it’s not worth losing everything on a drummed up vandalism charge.

Cody, on the other hand, is thrilled to see they’re the only ones there. The fewer people present to watch him potentially embarrass himself, the better.

Darby reaches into the trunk, pulling out a duffle bag and two skateboards. One of the boards is clearly both expensive and well used, while the other is a more generic model, brand new with the label still on it. He hands this latter board over to Cody, and Cody notices the price has been deliberately scrawled over with a thick black marker.

“Awwe, you bought this just for me?” Cody asks, mocking, and is surprised to see Darby’s ears flush pink. In response Darby shoves the duffle bag into Cody’s arms and walks towards the park, not looking to see if Cody follows. Cody bites back a retort and catches up to him. They’re parked right next to the entrance, and once inside Darby snatches the duffle bag away from Cody, setting it down on a bench and beginning to pull out various pieces of protective equipment, which he holds out to Cody expectantly.

“You’re really expecting me to wear elbow pads like I’m five?”

“That was why I brought them, yes.”

“I knew I should have just stayed at the motel and kept working,” Cody grumbles, as Darby pulls out kneepads and wristguards.

“Everyone in America has gone home by now. There is no possible email you need to send that can’t wait until tomorrow.”

“Alaska might not have gone home yet.” Cody points out, petulantly.

“Are we touring in Alaska?” Darby asks, with a note of alarm.

“No,” Cody mutters.

“Then stop whining and put your gear on.”

“Never seen you wear so much as a helmet before, let alone all this shit. What makes you so special?”

“I’ve been doing this since I was 9, I know what I’m doing.”

“Do as I say, not as I do. That’s rich, coming from a twerp like you.”

“Oh for fucks sake, Cody,” Darby snaps, “if I wear my helmet will you just stop being a stuck up asshole for five fucking minutes and have a little fun?”

Cody barely stops his mouth from falling open at this outburst. He’s not exactly sure when things shifted from banter to antagonism, and he’s even more unsure why he even cares. He’s _most_ surprised to see Darby pulling a bright green helmet out of his bag and jamming it on his own head, buckling it with a scowl.

Cody’s tempted to apologize, but he can’t exactly verbalise what he’s sorry for. Instead, he pulls the gear on without complaint and tries to act positive.

* * *

Darby’s actually a really good teacher. If it were anyone else, Cody probably would have snapped the board in a huff after his 37th fall, but Darby has just right mix of goading and gentleness to make Cody want to keep going. Cody is an executive vice president, for heaven’s sake; he doesn’t need to prove anything to anyone, least of all to some cocksure skater kid with a chip on his shoulder. And yet, somehow after an hour Darby manages to kindle within Cody a burning desire to improve at this heretofore undesired skill. Darby rewards this fire by upping the difficulty and letting Cody try out one of the shallower ramp pits, and by 11:30pm Cody is able to skate down from one edge and up the other with ease. He’s surprised to realise he’s disappointed when Darby calls it a night. The disappointment might be mutual; an uneasy tension has settled over them as they get into the car and start back towards the motel.

Eventually, Cody’s curiosity gets the better of him.

“Seriously, Allin, where’d you get the car from?”

Darby smiles ruefully. “My cousin’s got a buddy, lives around here. Cornerstone of the local Chicano community, huge lowrider freak, owns three of the things.”

Cody nods his understanding and goes quiet for another few blocks.

“Why the fuck would you let me think you stole it?”

Darby blushes. An actual, honest to god, deep red flush, and something finally clicks for Cody.

“Darby Allin. Were you trying to _impress me_?”

“Clearly it hasn’t worked, dumbass,” Darby mutters, the flush spreading farther up his cheeks even as he struggles to maintain his lackadaisical front. They’ve reached the motel, finally, and Darby kills the engine and stares down at his lap, awkwardly.

“You know, if you wanted a date, you could have just asked,” Cody jokes. It’s an extremely ill-conceived attempt at lightening the mood, and Cody immediately knows it. It suddenly clicks why The Bucks had told Cody to be nice to the kid in the first place. Why Darby got flustered when Cody teased him about the new skateboard. The outburst over the helmet. And Cody realises there might actually be something here, something worth exploring, and he’s gone and put his foot in it.

“Hey,” he says, softly. It might be too late to salvage this situation, but goddamnit, he’s going to try. “I had a good time tonight. Seriously. Thank you.”

Darby meets his gaze, searching. Cody grins, desperate to convince Darby he’s not actually the world’s biggest asshole, and is rewarded with a slow, shaky smile.

“Do… do you wanna to come inside for a bit? I’ve got some leftover Chinese that I’ll never finish on my own.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.”

Cody gets out of the car, and unlocks the motel room door, leaving the door wide open as he kicks off his shoes and tosses the keys on the table.

Darby locks up the car and then hangs back for a moment, like a vampire who needs an invitation to cross the threshold. Cody has a brief flash of doubt in his rejection of the supernatural, but then Darby lets out a breath and comes inside, closing the door behind him. Cody turns on the TV, tossing the remote to Darby on his way into the kitchenette. Darby settles into the sofa, cross-legged, and begins to flip through channels as Cody begins piling food onto plates for them both. From Cody’s vantage point, Darby’s profile is highlighted by the stark blue glow of the TV contrasting with the dingy orange cast of the shitty motel light fixtures. It’s a good view, Cody admits. The microwave beeps and Cody brings the plates over to sofa, where Darby seems to have settled on a documentary about lizards. They eat their food in a comfortable silence, letting David Attenborough tell them a lot of interesting facts about chameleon habits that neither of them would ever remember.

Suddenly, Cody blurts out, “Can you teach me some tricks next time?”

Darby cocks his head, considering. After a long moment, he states, “That assumes there will _be_ a next time.”

“I mean,” Cody says, hesitantly, “if you can forgive me for being such an asshole to you.”

“We both had some unflattering moments.”

“If it’s not too late, I’d like… I’d be open to…” Cody falters, unused to being on the backfoot in situations like this.

“Saturday, 4pm.” Darby says decisively, and stands up. “No whining about wearing the pads.” He opens the door to leave, adding, “And we can forget tonight ever happened, yeah?”

Cody nods. It’s honestly the best he can hope for after the botch job he’s made of today; a blank slate, a possible new friend. He counts his blessings and is about to get up to lock the door after Darby when the other man suddenly whirls back around. Before Cody can process what’s happening, Darby is kissing him, a fierce, bruising kiss that feels like having the air knocked out of him in the best way and is over far, far too soon. Darby pulls back with questioning look, a silent “did that cross a line?” Cody responds by tugging him back for more. Darby grins and sits back down, and all at once they lose themselves in each other.

* * *

Outside, Kenny Omega wanders around the parking lot, talking quietly on the phone in Japanese. He’s murmuring in a mushy sort of voice that’s reserved for one person, and one person only, but on seeing Cody’s door open so late at night, he pauses the call and steps inside, concerned.

**_Ah._ **

Kenny silently backs out of the room and closes the door. Cody can thank him later.

Scratch that, for not interrupting them?

Cody can owe him one later.

**Author's Note:**

> ahahaha who screwed up the dates maybe and wrote this in less then 6 hours while panicking the whole time? This kid! I hope this is okay. There's something longer and crazier and better and completely different coming to you in the near future, I promise. But for now, I hope you enjoyed this!


End file.
